New Tomorrow
by Eerin-no-Noroi
Summary: WWII. After the German invasion of Denmark, she is determined to show the strength of the Danish people to her captors,fighting off the advances of Prussia who sees beauty in her Aryan looks, all the while longing for Norway.FemDen/Male!Nor,Oneside PruDen


It's an order, Denmark reminds herself, as she steps into the conference room that is surrounded by SS soldiers. On all sides.

Surrounding her beloved King.

It is by sheer willpower that keeps Denmark's face as straight as it is, enough to keep the rage and disgust of their situation from surfacing. So much energy is spent in that one notion that the Dane can't even bring herself to lift the corners of her mouth into her usual smile. But it is well enough.

Why bother a sign of friendliness for these jackasses?

But Denmark remembers the letter that is now steadily burning in the fire back at her place. She is to be civil and on her_best _behavior.

Norge would've gotten a kick out of it, she though fondly.

Hell, the whole Nordics would get a laugh out of the former Queen of Scandinavia, even ol' Berwald.

I mean, seriously, _she was in a dress!_

Sighing mentally, Denmark used her free ungloved hand to finger nervously at the rather soft material between her fingers, wincing at the absurdity of it all. All through her years of living she has never suffered this kid of crap before. Through all her Viking raids, ceremonies, parties, even at the signing of alliances, never had she ever dorned a dress.

And now it was for the enemy.

Denmark barely covers a sneer as Prussia leers at her, his crimson eyes glinting at her apparel. Bastard, probably was his idea! Coming to a stand before her King, she huffs when he scans over her apparel and then at her eyes, his own gaze sympathetic. He knows how hard this is for her and was rather affronted himself when the Third Reich made a careless comment on the nation's pants and tie, claiming that for the official signing she would wear proper attire.

Where the hell did he think he was, England?

But there was no teasing lilt to his voice, his tone still and clipped. It made the Dane want to punch the jerk in the throat.

But one look from Christian had stopped her angry mid-retort as he nodded in affirmation, shooting a stern look to his country as she sputtered indigently.

So then Walla, here she was!

Throwing down the official documents from her hand, they landed unceremoniously on the desk. Ignoring the narrowed look of the Reich, she crossed her arms defiantly as she waited for the meeting to begin. As the expensive documents are passed around and signed, the thumping in her chest get louder and more painful as the seconds pass her by. It's so feeble really, their, _her surrender. _It brings back flashes of arrows and axes, her own like an extra limb with how easy she wields it. Of fires and bloodied grounds and it just makes her feel hallow, as she was nothing, not worth anything to have even tried to fight back.

How the others must be so ashamed of her, how weak she must seem.

_Weak. Delicate._ Those were never words that Mia thought would ever dreamed would be used in the same sentence with Denmark and it makes her eyes sting and feel hot all over. It's sickening.

But she allows them not to fall, never to fall. For if she has one thing to remain, it will be her pride. For even now it seemed as if all was lost, Denmark would not lose her strength and certainly not in front of the scum before her, who was currently smiling, oily mind you, at her king.

"Yes this should work out nicely," think what you want sociopath, "it would have been such a shame to destroy such a lovely Aryan nation, don't you agree boys?"

With all the focus on her, all predatory and not at all friendly, it is all Mia can stand but to quell her desire for violence. For all she sees is deception and the blond has never been good with that particular area.

It is a relief when the meeting is adjourned and it is all Denmark can do but to not sprint from the tension-filled room as she adorns her bike, her precious. Just as she makes to speed out of there, a hand grips her forearm tightly, painfully though the Dane would deny it with fierce fervor. Turning back, she stiffened when she looked into all too familiar red eyes.

"Going so soon, Mia?" It is the sound of her human name that snaps Denmark out of her paralysis as she rips the limp from its captor, growling in irritation.

"It's _Denmark_," she insists but colors irritably when the Prussian only laughs, loud and crude.

"Why such formalities? We're friends are we not?" it is not a question as his voice gets deeper, almost daring her to contradict.

For the good of her King, Denmark keeps silent.

"This isn't like you Denny, why so glum? AH! Maybe a few drinks will loosen ya up, know of any good-" Prussia began only to be cut off.

"_No."_

She says it with such finality, such iron that it stops the albino in his tracks, as his grin slips to frown. It takes seconds before his smile returns, though it is eerily and the Prussian suddenly seems much more like weasel than man.

"So cold? Always figured that'd be your boyfriend's specialty," he remarks causally and loving the way she tenses at the mention of Norway.

"Brother."

It said with an edge, a warning. But Gilbert ignores his siblings for the blond before him, as she trembles with emotion.

Setting his gaze over the female Nordic, Gilbert can agree on the Boss' notion of the beauty of the Danish people. For their nation, despite all her wildness and masculinity, cleans up really good. He can appreciate the slender form that is forced into the slimming dress and the alabaster skin that coats the flesh that isn't covered. Sees the glory in the bright blue eyes, normally sparkling with mischief and confidence, is now darkened with a fire, a fury that seems to dominate the tension in her body. Her hair, usually held up in a ponytail, is now let free and cascades past the strong shoulders(on orders of course) as it shines brilliantly in the sun, a beautifully honey color as it curls and sticks out every which way.

It is truly breathtaking.

And it is that moment of watching, looking over all the details in the Dane's face that the tomboyish nation takes her leave, and speeding off as she mumbles curses about German bastards and their brothers. It is all she can do but to speed home, maybe write a bit, even if just a letter to her beloved Norge

All the while oblivious to the fact that lusted eyes of crimson followed her figure even as she disappeared into the city limits, all the while scheming to reveal more of that lily white skin.


End file.
